In Motion
by Euregatto
Summary: This job required that a person react quickly — reflexively — and think just as briskly — instinctively. Ziva could naturally do both. Tiva one-shot


_I wrote this because... uh... no idea why but I just wanted to experiment with the TIVA pairing. Review if you liked! or loved! or anything in between..._

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><p><strong>In Motion<strong>

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><p><em>Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap tap tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap Tap Tap.<em>

Tony DiNozzo didn't know what he found more annoying at the moment—Tim McGee who was typing at an unsteady rate on his keyboard or Jethro Gibbs uncharacteristically snoring from his desk. The former was giving him a major headache, but the latter was even more distracting. Tony's fingers flexed along his keys, the blank report page on his computer screen mocking him with its whiteness. He hadn't been able to write a single word, unsure where to start.

They had been hunting, for the past three days, a man who murdered someone close to them. Catching him was much more difficult than they had thought, and they had been pulling all-nighters just to catch up to this guy.

_Tap tap tap tap tap._

"If he doesn't stop that annoying tapping I'm going to slap him," Tony muttered to himself, just barely loud enough for anyone to even pick up on him saying anything.

"What was that?" His partner questioned from her desk across from him.

"N-Nothing, Ziva," He responded, glancing over at her through weary eyes. He forgot this girl had enhanced super-human abilities… well, that was the closet to describing her as he could get. She didn't miss a beat.

Ziva David, probably not even from this planet, flashed a grin, but it dropped as soon as he looked away. "How about some coffee? You seem tired." Tony shrugged, training his eyes on his screen. He entered in a random assortment of letters and numbers, hoping she wouldn't think he hadn't spent the past two hours doing literally nothing. She didn't seem to buy into his cover story (he blamed his lack of sleep for messing up how smooth he would usually behave) and she let her chin fall recumbently on her fist, "You haven't done anything yet, Tony. Don't think you can avoid me now."

He quirked an eyebrow and vehemently denied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

She sniggered, "You have not glanced at me for the past week. I am starting to wonder if you have a secret you do not want me knowing."

Tony's lips pressed into a thin line and he realized McGee's tap tapping had faltered. Everything was silent for a moment. "Uhm… Ziva, I think you're on Nepeta." She barked a laugh, and McGee snorted in failed attempt not to chuckle. Tony shot him a warning glare, "Shut up McNutjob. Back to work."

Tim replied crudely, "The work you can never do."

Tony rolled his eye skyward, "I made up for this by working an additional what… two years more than you? As your superior I demand you return to work at once!"

Gibbs sat up abruptly, "And as _your_ superior I demand you all shut up and let me sleep!" His eyes were glued shut with crust, and he ducked his head back into the crook of his arms.

The senior field officer sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes until his finger threatened to grate them out of their sockets, "So, about coffee now?" He realized a dozen cups littered Gibbs's desk from when the leader had gone on a caffeine spree just to keep himself awake during the early hours, but now the rush had spiraled down into a crash. If Gibbs didn't get his sleep there would be hell to pay, and Tony wasn't willing to take any bullshit anyone had to throw at him—especially not now. "What does everyone want; I'll pick it up?"

"Let me come with you," Ziva offered as she moved to get her coat.

Tony sprang up and didn't even bother getting his jacket—he went straight for the elevator. "No, it's alright. I can get it myself."

McGee opened his mouth to object but Ziva cut him off, "Aw, but Tony!" She followed him anyway, stepping onto the elevator after him, "You're mean. Tell me what's going on."

Tim called out to them, "Wait, guys I—!" but the elevator doors slid shut. He sighed and reclined in his chair, sneaking a peek over at his boss to make sure he hadn't woken up. McGee shook his head, "I didn't tell them what I wanted."

In the elevator, Tony pressed the button to the bottom floor and inched towards that corner of the wall, his hands folded into each other. Ziva frowned and stared at him expectantly, "What's down? You've been acting strange lately."

"What's up."

"The sky?"

"No, I mean you're supposed to say 'what's up'."

"Oh. Anyway, that does not answer my question." Tony's lips pressed into a thin line and he pierced her with an irritated stare, possibly from the lack of sleep and working overtime to catch a sneaky murderer. She reacted by stepping towards the back of the lift. "Did… I do something to offend you?"

He shook his head, "I'm just exhausted." He realized Ziva did look drowsy, but not as worn-out as the rest of the team. As long as she had her nap (which she accidentally took later into the afternoon) she would be fine. This job required that a person react quickly—reflexively—and think just as briskly—instinctively. Ziva could naturally do both… with her eyes closed.

"I… OK."

She was clearly going to _finally _drop the topic, and Tony sighed adhesively. It was a relief the subject would be left alone for now, especially since he didn't want to admit—_DING. _"Bottom floor," He announced as the doors to the elevator slid open. He let her step off first before tailing after, almost tripping over his own sleepiness. She slipped into the passenger seat and clipped on her seatbelt—she figured she need it if Tony fell asleep at the wheel—as Tony slammed his door closed and started the car. The engine roared to life and made her heart skip a beat for an awkward reason.

"Is… it because you're upset?"

"Why would I be upset?" He seethed and pulled his car out of the lot and onto the nearly lifeless street. It was far too early for anyone to be heading to work just yet, but it was around the time a majority of the cafés started to open.

"Maybe because the killer we're after doesn't even have a name yet," Ziva inquired, "Maybe because the killer murdered your—"

"Drop it, David."

"My apologies. Just trying to lighten the tension."

Tony didn't have far to go—after a couple of swerving turns they pulled in front of the nearest café. He hesitated with his hand on the keys, slowly turning them to shut off the car and tugging them out like they had been glued. Ziva smiled at him, almost furtively, but he ignored her with his impassive expression as straight as it had been for most of the night. After a moment he popped open his door, "What do you want?"

"For you to talk to me."

"I don't feel like talking to anyone right now."

"Let me get the coffee. You need some alone time." She jumped out and leaned in through the open window to ask, "What do you want?" He replied with three orders of caramel lattes and four blacks, and she stormed inside.

The woman working behind the counter noticed the dark rings under Ziva's eyes, "You've been working late, too?"

Ziva sighed and leant on the counter on her elbows, "Yes. My team and I have been working restlessly for three days, and now my partner is stressing me out because he won't talk to us about how personally he's taking this case. One black coffee and three caramel lattes." She waited for the order, paid, and stormed out to the car. Tony was staring at a picture on his lap, but he reacted reflexively and folded it into his pocket when she swung open her door. "What's that?"

"Nothing," He uttered, "Nothing at all."

She slid into her seat, balancing the coffees skillfully on her lap. Her weary gaze met his for a moment, but he broke it off first to start the car's engine again. His fingers had trouble finding the right grip on his wheel—Ziva noticed he kept twitching on an impulse—and he almost put the vehicle in drive instead of popping it in reverse. She reached over, touching his shoulder, "Tony, you can tell me what is on your mind."

"Everything," He admonished, "My father's dead, we haven't slept in several days and to top if all off we don't have any leads. Abby and Ducky practically fell off the face of the earth because if we don't have any bodies or evidence, we don't need them!" Tony slammed his forehead into the horn, but the sudden blare made him jolt upright. "I don't even like my father but this is getting out of hand! Plus, I was the last one to talk to him before…" His voice faltered, "…We had a conversation about you."

"About me?" Ziva mused.

"It may seem kinda weird," Tony shrugged impassively, "but he told me that no matter what happens I should always protect you like I would the rest of my team, because if anything happened to you I would be absolutely devastated." His tone lightened, "It makes me… scared, a little. It makes me wonder what I would do if I lost you…" He realized she was gaping at him like a hooked trout, unsure what to say.

Ziva whipped out one of her many hidden knives and pressed the tip against his cheek, "Who are you and what have you done with Tony?" Her partner cast an uneasy stare at the blade threatening to break his skin. "Speak!"

He slapped the weapon away and in the same swift motion grabbed the back of her neck, bringing her head forward so violently he almost broke his nose against her face. Their lips met—silence lingered—the knife slipped from Ziva's grip—Tony's nose pulsed with unnoticed pain. She hesitated, cursing herself for getting wedged in a situation she didn't know how to control.

So, she broke away. "T-Tony…" What was she supposed to say? He had just kissed her, well aware of the consequences of coming within her personal space, and now she was hawing for words. "You don't have to be afraid." That didn't come out right.

He smiled, gently, and then reached into his pocket. Withdrawn was the picture he had been looking at before, followed by a folded sheet of paper, "I… I received a call from my father's lawyer. Turns out there was a will in Dad's name after all." He stared at it, "The contents listed are everything he left me."

"What did you get?" Ziva asked quizzically, leaning over as he opened the paper up.

Tony smirked, "He gave me everything I could have ever wanted."

The picture was of the two of them when Tony was still seven, but the only thing written on the sheet was: _Take care Son. Condolences, Your Father._


End file.
